— Nicole Fay Barr
GUILDERLAND — As Robert Hunt works busily in his yard, he often forgets about his surroundings. Then he turns, catches a glimpse of his house, and feels like he’s been "socked in the gut," he said.

Hunt was careful to keep his back to the house as he spoke to The Enterprise Friday. When he did turn to face the charred, blackened mess of wood and ashes, he squinted and grimaced, as if in agony.

But, Hunt says that his life is getting better.

It’s been a year since his dream house was destroyed by fire, and six months since his insurance company decided that Hunt did not cause the fire.

It’s also been a few months since Hunt decided to relinquish custody of his young daughter and son, a move he said was difficult but in their best interest.

Hunt is now working to re-establish his business selling garden statues from his property at 4379 Western Turnpike. And, since his house was only insured for a third of its worth, he said, he’s trying to save enough money to tear down the remains and build again.

Family home

Hunt’s house was built in the 1860’s and stood near one of the first covered bridges in the area, he said. The house used to be an inn or a tavern.

Hunt’s parents owned the house for 30 years, he said, and then his brother lived there. Eight years ago, Hunt and his longtime girlfriend moved from Rotterdam to the home, he said.

Before they moved to Guilderland, Hunt and his girlfriend traveled all over the country selling antiques, he said; they were a couple for 13 years. When their daughter, Summer, was born, he said, they decided to settle down.

Hunt started to sell his antiques from his home, along with garden statues he made. Their business, Garden Statuary ’N’ Antiques, was quickly a success, he said.

Hunt’s products are all around his yard, from cement angels and cats to a massive elephant with a red tongue. He makes the creatures from molds, sometimes hundreds at a time, and has over 5,000 molds, he said.
In addition to his statues, Hunt is also known for his "rocket truck." A real rocket sits on the roof of his red-white-and-blue pickup and messages threatening Osama bin Laden and Sadam Hussein are painted on the sides.

Hunt’s family was happy, he said, and in 2002, their son, Sky, was born.

But, two years ago, Hunt’s girlfriend left him. When The Enterprise interviewed Hunt last July, he had been battling for custody of his two children. The fact that he had lost his home and had little money to get back on his feet was hurting his case for custody, Hunt said.

This week, he reported that he gave up on getting custody.
"We were going back and forth to court last year and the judge was going for the fact that I lived in a motor home," Hunt said.

But, Hunt decided to let his ex-girlfriend have custody. This way, he said, his children can live in a house and attend school nearby. (His ex-girlfriend lives in Rensselaerville and their daughter goes to school in Greenville, about 25 miles from Guilderland.)

Hunt now sees his children every other weekend and for dinner on Wednesdays. As he did last year, he still speaks of his children with intense love and affection.

"Worst nightmare"

Hutn told the story of his house fire this way: On May 5 last year, Hunt woke up in the middle of the night and smelled fumes. He hurried to his bedroom window and saw smoke pouring out from the first floor of his house, he said.

He jumped out of his second-story window, hurting his shoulder and hip. Hunt ran to the street and flagged down a newspaper-delivery car, he said. The driver asked Hunt if he had a garden hose or a fire extinguisher.
By some "twist of fate," Hunt said, a friend in Virginia had given him six large fire extinguishers a few months earlier and he kept them in the yard near his barn.

He tried them all. Finally, firefighters arrived and pulled Hunt away from the house, he said.

Hunt was taken to the hospital. Before he was discharged, he said, he was told that his house was a total loss.
"I didn’t know what total loss meant until I saw it," he said last year, his face contorted with grief.
A month after losing his house, Hunt said, his "worst nightmare" had begun. After the fire, he said, his insurance company — Farm Family Casualty Insurance Company — sent out an adjuster to examine Hunt’s property.
"She was astounded at the small amount of insurance I had," Hunt said. "She felt sorry for me. She said I’m woefully under-insured."

Then, a month later, a company representative called Hunt and told him that there was a problem. Farm Family decided to open up an investigation for the cause of the fire, he said.
"They told me straight out, ‘We think you burned down your house,’" Hunt said.

Guilderland Police Sergeant Daniel McNally, a fire investigator for the town, told The Enterprise last July that he was one of the first officials at the scene of the fire. He described Hunt trying to extinguish the fire.
"Everything appeared legitimate. Our conclusion was that it was accidental...," McNally said. "It started in the area of the furnace....There is no evidence it was suspicious."

Hunt’s wood furnace was in his basement.
"It’s unfortunate for us, but our privacy laws say that we can’t comment on specific cases," Victoria Stanton, general counsel for Farm Family told The Enterprise last year. She declined responding to any of the assertions made by Hunt and, this week, another representative of the company also declined comment.
Hunt went on last year, describing his plight, "When something like this happens, your entire world crashes. They’re trying to tell me that I burned it. That stings....They’re accusing me of being a criminal.
"Without a house, I’ll probably lose custody of my kids. To me, that’s proof of why I would never do anything like this. I wouldn’t trade custody of my children for a million dollars."
Not knowing what else to do at the time, Hunt spray-painted the charred remains of his house. Next to his daughter’s bedroom window, Hunt wrote, "Farm Family thank you for ‘0’ $."
On a giant banner on Hunt’s barn, it said, "Farm Family Ins. Co. hung my family out to dry and left us homeless."

Trying to rebuild

The insurance company closed the investigation toward the end of last year, Hunt said this week. He laughed as he reported that he got no apology.

The vice president of the insurance company then asked Hunt to take down the sign on his barn, he said.
"The whole while, I begged them for the insurance money so I could get custody of my kids and they said, ‘Whatever,’" Hunt said. "But, to be decent, I took the sign down anyway. They at least came through with closing the investigation."

The spray-painted sign on the house, however, still remains. Hunt is hoping to tear down the house soon, he said.

It would cost around $20,000 for professionals to tear down the house and remove the debris, Hunt said.
"The insurance company gave me nowhere near that," he said.

While his neighbors are very supportive, Hunt said he realizes it’s not fair to them to leave what’s left of the house on his property.
"I’m working on it," he said. "I’ll probably end up cutting it up and burning it in a wood furnace."

Town officials have also told Hunt to tear down the house, he said. At the May 3 town board meeting, the board voted to waive the building fee for Hunt to demolish his home. This is common, the town supervisor said, for those whose homes have been damaged by fire or other circumstances.
"The town said the house has to come down this summer," Hunt told The Enterprise. "Fortunately, we’ve got good people working for the town who are considerate and decent."
Hunt spoke about the history of his house. "I was nostalgic about this place and that led me to be a steward of it," he said. "By some horrible twist of fate, I dropped the ball."

Hunt said his house and property were only insured for a third of what they are worth.
"People have to check their policies," Hunt said. "There should be a course on it. If only I’d had it insured for more. But, who thinks their house is going to burn down"
"I was told it would be $450,000 to rebuild it, so it don’t take a whole lot of figuring out that that ain’t going to happen," he said.

But, Hunt said, he does dream of building on the land again. He will take the trim from his porch, which is hanging from the roof but not burned, and anything else salvageable from the house and try to use it when he builds again, he said.
"Not being able to put it back the way it was is a feeling of remorse and loss that you can’t imagine," Hunt said.
"With it still standing there, you can see some of the architecture and it’s like a testament to how wonderful it was. It’s a strange Catch-22," he said. "It was a wonderful house for 150 years and now it’s like a haunted house.
"I can almost still see how it was before in my dream thoughts and then I look at it and get crushed all over again," Hunt said. "Only people who lose their houses can understand."

At the back of Hunt’s property stands a slanted green trailer with rust spots.
"That was a misguided attempt," he said, laughing. "We found that last year and I thought the town would allow it. I tried to tow it home with my pickup truck.
"I went five miles and then put it in my sister’s yard. She said, ‘Oh my God. What are you doing"’" Hunt recalled. "I had to get a town permit and find a guy with a tractor trailer."

Hunt was able to get the trailer towed to his property, he said, but he had trouble leveling it.
"I tried to jack it up and I bent the frame," he said. "The floor is cracked and I use it for storage now. I’m getting rid of it, though. Rich Guilderland is not big on $10,000 motor homes."

Hunt now alternates between living with his sister and in his motor home, he said.
"I stay with friends and family, in hotels, whatever," he said, laughing. "I’m a vagabond."
He added, "Sometimes it helps to laugh because later I cry and I wish I could just laugh."

Back to business
"It’s life-altering to lose everything," Hunt went on. "It’s multi-faceted. My daughter said to me, ‘I know all my dollies are gone, but I just want my bedroom back.’
"It’s almost a cumulative effect," he said. "Every time you look at it, it’s a new shock. It’s inexplicable."

But, he is getting his life back together. Hunt has a new girlfriend, Georgia Terwilliger, who sat with him as he spoke to The Enterprise this week. She lent him quiet support as he spoke of his pain and laughed with him as he made sarcastic jokes.
"Sometimes I’m working on something and I forget for a while," Hunt said. "Then, I’ll look in a window and remember what was in that room. In the dining room, I’ll think of family time. I’ll see the living room and think about watching TV with my brats. Looking at the windows to the kids’ rooms is the worst..."
The fire was a year ago on May 5, Hunt said. "You’d think with time it would be less, but I remember more and more what was in there...," he said. "I’ll be working and I’ll think, ‘Let me go grab the tape measure.’ Then I remember that it was in the house. It could be the most sentimental thing or the most insignificant, like a damn tape measure, and it hurts.
"Every day you miss something else," Hunt said. "Then, I’d go to court for my kids and I’d realize that possessions don’t mean much."

As for his business, Hunt said it’s not what it used to be. He’s been working in demolition and landscaping, to make extra money. This leaves him with an unpredictable schedule, he said.
"People are so used to being here seven days a week and, after a while, they get frustrated that I’m not here," Hunt said. "I say to them, ‘Hey, my house leaks.’"

Before the fire, Hunt’s business was open all the time. He’d wake up and begin making molds, he said.
"I used to have 10, 15 cars at a time here before, now I have a few cars a day," Hunt said. He motioned to the big paved area around him that he said he made to accommodate the many cars of customers that used to come.
"The people we had established a rapport with had come out here a few times and I wasn’t around," Hunt said of after the fire. "At first, I couldn’t stand to be here. Now, I’m getting a new interest and the reality is finally soaking in.
"I let the yard go last year," Hunt said, motioning to the overgrown weeds and addition of lawn furniture and statues. "Now we’re trying to clean it up....We’re trying to get it neat and organized so people can learn to come back here."

As he spoke to The Enterprise, a few people came and browsed through the statues on the property. One man drove up and asked the cost of two large gargoyles. Hunt told him the pair cost $2,500.
"Things smooth out after a bit," Hunt concluded. "You can get used to anything. You can lose the most important thing in the world to you and then get used to it. I guess that’s human nature."